


a wolfish appetite

by softmccree



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Animal Death, Belly Kink, Belly Rubs, Chubby Jesse McCree, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Sappy Ending, Stomach Ache, Stuffing, Werewolf Jesse McCree, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-24 17:55:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15635778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softmccree/pseuds/softmccree
Summary: Jesse sniffs out something powerful in the woods, and it turns out to be too delicious to share.





	a wolfish appetite

**Author's Note:**

> i finished this on my phone and im tired and sick but ive been working on this for MONTHS and it's the longest fic ive ever written!!!! so i hope u enjoy!!
> 
> if you didn't fully read the tags then like idk what to say to u dood
> 
> also on tumblr [here](https://softmccree.tumblr.com/post/176842001497/a-wolfish-appetite-fatgenji-overwatch-video)!

“Might have to set up camp here soon.”

Hanzo urges his horse to slow so that he can match pace with Jesse, who has his head turned to watch the sky. The sun is just beginning to dip into the horizon, molten and lazy, its rays painting the clouds burning oranges and reds and bathing the surrounding snow in amber hues. A few birds chirp in the distance and if Hanzo strains he can hear an owl hooting in the trees. Night will fall soon.

“We will head towards the river, then,” Hanzo says.

“Sounds fair to me, sweetheart,” Jesse agrees, and they adjust their course slightly south.

The ride through the wintry forest is quiet from there on, but peaceful—which is exactly what men like Hanzo and Jesse need. As hunters of both the mundane and the magical, and damn good ones at that, their services are often requested by a great number of nobles and townsfolk. It is nice to have the bustle of a city replaced with the rustlings of wildlife for a change.

The trees begin to thin and give way to a snowy bank and half-frozen stream, and with a low call Hanzo slows his horse’s pace, Jesse not far behind. They slide off of their steeds and survey the bank: the snow has not piled up so thick here, and the trees are far enough away to leave space for a decent camp but still close enough to provide cover if there arose the need for a quick getaway. As the sky continues to darken, the sheet of ice over the stream only thickens, offering precious little time to gather drinking water before it freezes solid.

“Let me see your waterskin,” Hanzo says. “I’ll refill them while you tend to the horses.” He strides over to where Jesse is still standing by his horse, stock still and gazing attentively into the quickly dimming woods. He furrows his brow. “Jesse?”

Slowly, his lover tears his gaze away from the forest, lingering on the trees as if it physically pains him to look away. When he finally turns to Hanzo his stare is unfocused.

“Your waterskin,” he prompts again.

“Ah, right, o’ course,” Jesse says. He hands it over, and it seems that whatever has clouded his mind has disappeared for the moment. Hanzo scrutinizes him.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m...” Jesse looks back out to the forest, eyes glassy, almost as if in a trance. “...fine,” he murmurs.

Hanzo squints. Jesse stares.

“I’ll be a moment,” Hanzo says, and if there is a response he cannot hear it.

It is not so often that Jesse has troubles with his wolf these days, or so he is content to tell Hanzo. When he was younger, the urge to shift had reportedly been almost impossible to ignore on the daily, but through the years and with much practice he had learned to reign in his wolven impulses. He can ignore the shift for up to a fortnight now.

 _So what could have possibly set him off?_ Hanzo wonders, trekking down to the stream. It has been only four days since his last shift; he remembers clearly how they’d needed Jesse’s werewolf form to fend off a particularly aggressive Cat Sidhe when they’d entered the forest. Both the transformation and the skirmish should have practically reduced the urge to nothing, having stretched the wolf’s legs so thoroughly.

Perhaps Jesse really _is_ tied to a moon cycle—a rare sort, to result in moods as intense as this. An eclipse?

Hanzo shakes his head. Whatever is bothering his lover, he will ask for himself in order to ensure that nothing is the matter. He quickly stops their waterskins with cold-numbed fingers and stalls for a little while before returning to the campsite. Despite the extra time,Jesse still stands almost exactly where Hanzo had left him. The horses, at least, have their blankets. He clears his throat.

“Yer back,” Jesse says, whipping around. While still moderately unfocused he seems to have snapped out of his trance for the moment. He gestures to the waterskins. “We good for a few more days, then?”

“Unless we run into complications, yes.” He sets them beside the opening to their tent and crosses his arms over his chest. “Now, what is bothering you, my love?”

The man in question furrows his brows. “I said before that nothin’s botherin’ me.”

“So I should assume that staring at nothing for ten minutes is normal behavior, then.”

“That’s...” Jesse sighs and shakes his head. “No. Somethin’ out there just...distracted me, is all. Smelled magical n’ I was worried it’d be attracted to yer runes, but it...wandered off somewhere.”

Hanzo merely narrows his eyes. This is not the truth in the slightest, and the both of them know it.

“I’m gonna go gather some wood for a fire!” Jesse squeaks. He avoids Hanzo’s piercing gaze as he retreats into the forest, pulling his cape closer around him to further shield himself.

Hanzo does not expect him back anytime soon. He starts on the tent.

 

* * *

 

It is very late at night, or perhaps very early in the morning, when there is a strange noise out in the wood. The sound snaps Hanzo out of his dozing and he pokes his head out of their tent—the fire has dimmed considerably with his runes losing their magic through the hours, though in the low light he can see the river has completely frozen over and that the dark is black as pitch. The few trees which catch the light of the flame are unwavering and reveal nothing of what lay deeper within.

In a quick, quiet movement, Hanzo draws a hunting knife from the straps of his boot and brandishes it against the darkness, emerging from the tent in a low crouch. The noise sounds again, a low sort of grunt, and Hanzo’s metaphorical hackles raise—a wounded traveler? A wounded _Jesse_? What if Jesse actually had been telling the truth about a creature out in the wood and had gotten himself injured?

Was the creature here at camp?

“Show yourself,” Hanzo snaps, stalking closer to the edge of the forest. The grunts continue, louder now that they are apparently moving in the same direction. He scowls. “I assure you I am not the sort of man for _games_.”

From the trees emerges a large, hulking shape, and even in the poor lighting Hanzo recognizes the mass of fur and claws to be Jesse’s wolven form. He’s breathing heavily, huffing around the carcass of a pale deer which he half-carries in his maw and half-drags through the snow. Blood drips from his teeth, turned a slight gold by the lazy campfire.

No...no, the light of the fire is not powerful enough to cast its color to the edge of the trees. The blood is golden all on its own.

He's killed a _white hind_.

“Jesse, you incredible man!” Hanzo cries. He rushes over to his lover as quickly as he can through the layers of snow, who preens under his gaze. He has heard countless tales of its divine venison— _if_ it ever managed to be captured, much less killed—and to have it before him now... “I never would have imagined what you smelled was a white hind. What luck!”

As Hanzo reaches to relieve Jesse of the doe’s weight, Jesse shifts his stance and a growl bubbles its way up his throat. He takes a small step backwards, curling tighter around his kill. Hanzo furrows his brows.

“What is the matter?”

Jesse makes an odd warbling noise, holding the doe ever closer to himself. Hanzo is well versed in his lover’s brand of shifted communication by this point—everything about him screams this is mine.

“I am only going to preserve it, Jesse.You can have the legs.”

A huffy growl.

Hanzo narrows his eyes. “You _cannot_ expect me to just let you have this all to yourself. This is a _white hind_ we’re talking about, Jesse! We won’t have to worry about hunting for days.”

Another growl, much louder than the last. The two glare at each other for a healthy moment, no sounds besides the crackling of the fire and the settling of the snowy forest beyond them to interrupt their standoff. As time wears on, Jesse’s gaze slowly turns from defensive to something pitiful and dangerously close to puppy-dog eyes.

Hanzo, for all his years and stoicism, is not immune.

“Save the head,” he concedes.

That’s all Jesse needs to hear, it seems; he lets out a happy little chuff and finishes dragging the doe’s body over to the dying fire, where he settles down into the snow and begins to dig in happily, the picture of contentment. Hanzo follows, if only to renew the runes surrounding the fire.

“When you find yourself sick on white magic,” Hanzo says, “you will find no sympathy in me.”

Jesse only sneezes.

 

* * *

 

 

Come morning, Hanzo finds himself awoken not by the musical chirpings of woodland songbirds, but by what can only be the pained moans of a werewolf who is feeling the consequences of overindulging in magicked venison.

A smug grin slides across Hanzo’s features as he turns on their pallet to face his lover. “Enjoyed ourselves, have we?” he purrs.

Jesse’s response is a quiet, drawn-out groan.

“L-li’l bit,” he wheezes pitifully. “Just kept—pullin’ me back in...”

Hanzo hums thoughtfully, foregoing words in favor of taking in Jesse’s image. His eyes are screwed tightly shut, eyebrows drawn together in pain, his one hand above the warm cocoon of his blankets and rubbing across the rounded dome of his belly. He works his jaw when his stomach lets out a particularly loud, wet gurgle; Hanzo decides against teasing him further and instead urges him to lie down on his side.

“Hurts,” Jesse murmurs in protest.

“It will hurt less after we get the air out.”

A moment or two pass without either man moving, only the sounds of Jesse’s angry stomach filling the quiet winter air. Ever so slowly, he shifts on the pallet until he comes face to face with Hanzo, his arm at a poor angle to continue soothing his belly. His eyes are a striking yellow when he peeks through his lashes.

“Everythin’ looks”—he pauses to belch softly—“white n’ gold.”

Hanzo chuckles. “I _did_ warn you of the consequences. You were content to ignore them.”

Jesse groans either at the teasing or at his digestion. Assuming the latter, Hanzo gently puts his hands on either side of Jesse’s engorged belly—normally it’s rather malleable from the layer of pudge he’s put on over the years, but in the face of his feast it has almost no give. The wide expanse of it is swollen and flushed, looking about ready to pop. He winces at the contact, stomach giving a whining protest of its own, but soon calms when Hanzo begins ghosting his hands over the taut skin.

“Feels good,” he hums.

“Hush, now.”

The only noises in their tent are the rumblings of Jesse’s stomach as Hanzo massages it, turning into noisy burps that Jesse attempts to stifle with his hand. As the tension leaves his lover’s body and his stomach stops its pitiful whines, Hanzo presses in lightly with his fingers, drawing a faint rune of healing from the crest to just below his belly button. Jesse squirms.

“Am I hurting you?” Hanzo says, lifting his hands up and away.

“No, no, jus’...” He hiccups. “Feels cold. What was that?”

“Just something to help with the pain,” Hanzo hums, and his lover nods in understanding. They inch closer together and he runs his hands instead through Jesse’s hair, working out the slight tangles as his fingers card along. Jesse has already closed his eyes, sighing contently, and Hanzo can feel his eyes growing heavier as well. “We can wait until the afternoon to continue traveling.”

Jesse grins sleepily, nuzzling ever closer and bumping his full stomach against Hanzo. “Yer too good to me, pumpkin.”

Hanzo merely presses a kiss to his forehead. “You are deserving of it all,” he whispers.

**Author's Note:**

> so!! yeah that's it!!! thank you for reading and I hope u enjoys! I'm going to come back and edit all of this tomorrow probably, like put all the italics back lol. some little infos:
> 
> 1\. hanzo is a rune writer, which means he can make runes from thin air and have them effective immediately whereas others have to have them written onto stones or other physical things. non-runewriters also need to be magic users to activate pre-written runes on their own. runes can be used for arbitrary things like keeping fires going or for battle, like shocking someone with lightning!  
> 2\. hanzo n the horses don't freeze to death because their clothes/pallets are lined with his runes! he has lots of warmth runes written on the insides of their clothes, blankets, etc. :D  
> 3\. Jesse and his wolf are separate entities, but they're buddies now so Jesse is still mostly in his mind when he shifts. not totally though, as seen from his overexcitement when it came to the white hind  
> 4\. a white hind (or white stag) is a legendary creature that is said to be impossible to capture and either the bearer of terrible news or a magical guide. here, it's just super rare to capture one, and its blood is absolutely teeming with powerful white magic that harms those who ingest it! cooked its okay, but raw it can seriously harm or kill you from the sheer power. Jesse's regenerative abilities from being a were are legit the only thing keeping him from dying here lol 
> 
> I may make this a series :D


End file.
